


the best kept secret

by pumpkinpaperweight



Series: filling in canon [5]
Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Gen, one instance of strong language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpaperweight/pseuds/pumpkinpaperweight
Summary: fifteen years to the day before agatha, sophie, or tedros go to the school for good and evil, callis and lancelot have some secrets to keep.
Relationships: Agatha & Callis (The School for Good and Evil), Lancelot & Tedros (The School for Good and Evil)
Series: filling in canon [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651123
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	the best kept secret

**(Kidnapping Day, Gavaldon. Fifteen years before Agatha and Sophie's turn.)**

“Maybe it’s bears.” said Callis dryly, bouncing a fussing Agatha on her knee. Honora snorted, but the lead Elder waved her off. 

“We eliminated the bear theory years ago, Ms Wardwell. It’s undeniable that the School for Good and Evil is the children’s destination.”

“I was joking.” muttered Callis, but no one heard her. 

She knew where they were really going. 

They were sitting inside Gavaldon’s dim, leaky town hall-- and by _they,_ she meant everyone. The entire village had turned out to discuss the recent kidnapping, and the stamp on the boxes of just-delivered storybooks. 

Anya and Estra were the kidnapped children, this time. Callis hadn’t known either of the girls, but she’d seen sweet-faced Anya singing at the school’s recital, and seen Estra skulking in the shallows of the lake, sloshing about and throwing mud at passers-by, tricking toddlers into coming towards her and then trying to throw them in. 

The obvious choices, really. 

Mr Deauville held up the box, and Callis, peering past people’s hats, caught sight of the stamp--

Undeniable. 

She cringed and turned away, putting her arms more securely around Agatha, who wriggled and babbled and tried to pull Callis’s rings off, displeased at being restricted.

“Where’s my Anya gone, then?” sobbed a voice from the front. “What is this school? What will they do to her?” 

Everyone else murmured and rustled and a few people rolled their eyes, but Callis didn’t. 

She was right to cry. 

“Anya will have undoubtedly gone to the School for Good, Mrs Ford.” said Mr Deauville gently to Anya‘s weeping mother. “She will be educated alongside the children of great heroes, trained to become one herself. A Princess.”

Agatha had gone quiet, chewing Callis’s scarf and staring solemnly with her big eyes at the bookseller. Callis gently prised the slimy fabric out of her mouth, expecting her to start crying again, but she didn’t. 

“It sounds lovely.” said Vanessa, voice soaring loudest over everyone’s. “How magical.”

Callis glanced over and saw Sophie bundled in a stupid pink ensemble in her arms. An angelic child.

Too much so. 

Agatha quiet in her little black coat, had clamped her small hand around her mother’s thumb, but still seemed oddly enthralled. Around them, there were mumbled agreements. Training to be a Princess didn’t seem _so_ very bad. In fact, it seemed very fine indeed. 

Anya’s mother didn’t look very cheered. 

“Will it be dangerous?” she asked, voice flimsy. 

“Surely not.” said Mr Deauville. “Schools are schools.”

Callis’s face darkened and she looked down at Agatha, who was still oddly quiet. 

“And Estra?” Mr Aaltonen’s low voice rang from the back of the hall. “You mean to tell me that my girl’s gone to this... Evil school?”

An uncomfortable pause.

“It would seem so.” said Mr Deauville nervously. 

“And what do they do there?”

“Train to become villains.” said Callis quietly, without thinking. “Witches. Warlocks. Spies. Wicked Queens.”

Heads turned to her. 

The lead Elder took a breath.

“Wardwell, how dare you suggest such a--”

“What do you _think_ is going to happen at the School for _Evil?”_ snapped Callis. “They’re going to be Princesses, too? Don’t be a fool.”

Arguing erupted around them, people turned towards Callis, Callis cursed her fat mouth--

“And will it be dangerous?” asked Mr Aaltonen. 

Mr Deauville answered (“like I said, a School is a School--”) but he hadn’t asked Mr Deauville.

Callis looked over at him. 

She didn’t answer.

* * *

Callis overheard Vanessa on the way out. 

“I’ve invited Mrs Ford over for tea tomorrow, I’m sure she’ll miss her Anya terribly. She was ever so sweet with Sophie…”

Sophie herself was still sitting in the perambulator, holding her feet like little children did, looking confused. Wisps of white blonde hair escaped her little pink cloche hat.

There was a chorus of agreement; about what a sweet babe Sophie was, and how it was so easy to love her, and they were sure _she_ would be a natural at the School for Good…

The voice of the baker’s wife suddenly struck Callis. 

“I mean, the children who go to this Evil school… they all have the same sort of _look,_ don’t they?”

They were gazing over Vanessa’s shoulder. 

Stood at the back of the queue of leaving people, Callis clutched Agatha and stared straight ahead, mouth tense. Well, she didn’t _have_ a perambulator, or a fancy little house with lace curtains, or a stupid little pea coat and cloche hat ensemble for Agatha to wear. God knows she couldn’t afford them. 

Agatha leaned over her shoulder, staring at Sophie with interest. Sophie blinked back.

Vanessa took the pram and turned it away. 

“Yes.” she said. “I suppose they do, don’t they?”

* * *

Callis went home and drank three scalding cups of tea before she felt calm again. 

It would be so easy to poison that woman. Her family would have already done it, by now. God, if the Wardwell Clan knew...

The thud of a book hitting the floorboards jerked her back to the present, and she turned to see Agatha sat in front of the bookshelf, clumsily flipping the pages of a storybook with her chubby hands. She couldn’t read yet, and could barely speak, but she liked looking at them anyway. 

A proper Reader.

Callis sighed deeply and stood, going to see which one she’d dragged from the shelf. 

_“King Arthur?_ Interesting choice.”

Agatha babbled at her, pushing the pages to and fro. 

“Yes, very dramatic.” Callis sat down next to her. “What do you make of Arthur?”

More babbling. 

“Mm, he was a bit of a git, wasn’t he? Yes. I suppose so.”

There was nothing much to understand in Agatha’s wordless chattering, but Callis enjoyed parsing meaning out of it anyway. There was no one else to talk to, so Agatha would have to do.

She sighed and leaned over to pick Agatha up, holding her up to eye level. Agatha seemed to find this amusing, waving her hands at Callis’s face and pulling her hair. 

“What are you going to do, hm?” she asked. “Will you find a handsome idiot prince, wait in a tower for him, and then become his queen and have lots of blonde babies?”

One of Agatha’s small fists smacked her in the face. Callis laughed. 

“No? What, then? Will you slay your Nemesis, Sophie, in a dramatic battle of wild magical power?”

Agatha sneezed. Callis snorted, sitting her back down and going to check on the soup. 

When she came back, Agatha was peering at the last page.

“Ooh.” said Callis, spying the illustration of Guinevere and her baby son. “You’d be filthy rich if you went for him. He’s probably your age. Bet he’s not as pretty as you, though.”

Agatha stared at her. 

“Yeah.” said Callis. “Gorgeous, you.”

Agatha still looked unimpressed. Callis grimaced. 

“Starts early, doesn’t it?” she leaned down and picked her up, kissing the top of her head. “Let’s go and find some herbs.”

* * *

She arrived back to a black-cloaked figure on the porch. 

It would have been more ominous if she hadn’t recognised the haughty stance.

“I expected you to be home.” said Vanessa.

Callis barged past her without acknowledging her and kicked the door open. Agatha, uncertain of the strange woman, drew back as Vanessa followed them inside. 

“You know what happens to them.” said Vanessa. “Don’t you? You know for sure.”

Callis ignored her, sitting Agatha in her high chair and prying the mint and basil from her small hands. 

“I know you’re from outside of Gavaldon.” said Vanessa. “I know you know about this… School for Good and Evil.”

Callis glanced at her, and found herself shocked by how much Vanessa was starting to change. There was practically nothing left of Agatha in her. Her hair and eyes were still dark, but her face was rounded and peachy now, not sallow and pointed like Agatha’s was bound to be. 

And they thought Callis was the witch. 

“And what,” said Callis sweetly. “You’ll hand me over to the Elders?”

“No,” said Vanessa. “I want your help to get Sophie into this Good school.”

“Mm. You do feel like the sort of parent who wouldn’t really give a shit if their child happened to _disappear.”_ Callis marched over to the bookshelf, extracted _King Arthur_ , and put it down in front of a baffled Agatha. “Get out of my house.”

“You don’t know my circumstances.” snarled Vanessa, eyes averted from Agatha. 

“I know them better than anyone.” spat Callis. 

“No, you--”

“Oh, I’ll tell you what I know about the School!” erupted Callis. “I’ll tell you because I _went_. I went to the School for Evil. My family are Evil nobility. Wildly influential. Wildly powerful. I went, I aced it, I graduated, and then I _taught_ there. And no, it’s not safe. People _die_ at that school, Vanessa. Kids _die._ They die in the Trial by Tale, they die in dangerous classes, they die on their Quests or during their fairy tales. I left that world to come to this one, on purpose, because I know what happens to kids in fairy tales.”

But Vanessa had sunk into a chair, enthralled.

“That’s what they go to do? Get into fairy tales?”

“You mad harpy!” hissed Callis. “You don’t understand. It’s _dangerous._ It’s not a fun Princess fantasy!”

“How do they get into the tales?” asked Vanessa. Callis ground her teeth. 

“If you graduate as a Leader, you’re much more likely to get one, but the Storian starts to write about people whenever it wants, you can’t guarantee it. It’s usually based on Nemesis things-- a Good kid and an Evil kid end up as each other’s Nemesis, they fight but-- oh, what do you care? _You_ can’t go.”

“But Sophie can.” said Vanessa. “It must be beautiful. It would suit her.”

Callis grabbed her shoulder.

“ _Listen to me!_ Gavaldon might be boring, but it’s a thousand times safer than the Endless Woods! Sophie could die!”

“She deserves better.” muttered Vanessa feverishly. “What happens if you have a Nemesis?”

“You have to defeat them.” said Callis grimly. “Win eternal glory. Triumph in your tale. Usually… usually, one of them dies.”

Vanessa looked up at her, standing dreamily. 

“Has there ever been a case of twins being each other’s Nemesis?”

Callis stared at her for a second--

Then she hit her. 

She punched Vanessa as hard as she could, a closed fist, six months of swallowed rage suddenly erupting. 

Vanessa shrieked, they grappled for a second--

Agatha started crying. 

Callis, startled, dropped Vanessa in a heap on the floor and rushed over--

And without thinking, Vanessa looked over at Agatha. Her face tensed.

“Get out.” spat Callis, picking up Agatha and trying to soothe her. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, it’s fine--” 

“She’ll go to the Evil school.” Vanessa said, nursing her bruised jaw. “Sophie will go to Good, and she’ll go to Evil.”

Callis didn’t trust herself to reply. Even if she had replied, nothing would sway Vanessa now. She’d seen that look in Good _and_ Evil parents, in the Endless Woods. The ambition. The promise of more.

Vanessa stood and left without another word.

Callis clutched Agatha to her chest, blood boiling. 

Vanessa was a fool. Callis knew a witch when she saw one. 

And only one witch lived on Graves Hill.

* * *

The next morning, there was a timid knock on the door. Callis, who hadn’t slept, flung it open in a foul mood--

“Ms Wardwell?”

It was Anya’s mother. 

Callis blinked. 

“Mrs Ford? Is something wrong?”

“Vanessa said… she said that you could tell me what will actually happen to Anya.” said Mrs Ford in a small voice. 

Callis’s eyes flared, catching sight of Estra’s father behind her.

“ _What_?”

“We didn’t tell a soul.” said Mrs Ford earnestly. “We realised it could be dangerous, I pretended I had a migraine and said I wanted some herbs from you, just-- _please_ tell me what will happen to my baby. Please.”

Callis stared at her for a second. 

Then she sighed, and swung the door open. 

* * *

Over the years, she’d meet all of the other parents of kidnapped children, explaining it to them under the pretence of medical consultations, whilst Agatha was at school or with Sophie or asleep. The best kept secret in the village. The Elders never knew. Callis confessed herself surprised by the backbone of these foolish villagers--

And then it was her turn. 

She didn’t expect anyone to make the trek. It rained, the day after the kidnapping. She sat alone in the kitchen. But they came anyway. All of them who were still alive. 

They all knew something was wrong, this time. 

(Stefan didn’t come.)

* * *

**(Good Admissions Day, Camelot. Fifteen years before Tedros's turn.)**

“What is _wrong_ with you, huh?” 

Lancelot kicked the door of the meeting room shut and sternly held up the wriggling baby. 

Tedros cried louder, small face scrunched with fury. 

“How can your lungs have room for all that screaming in them?” demanded Lancelot, swaying him slightly. “Don’t you need to breathe?”

More wailing. 

“Ah, you’re a brat, aren’t you? Everyone thinks you’re an angel, but _I_ know better. You’ve got the devil’s temper. Come on, shut up, you’re gonna make yourself puke. Stop it, Tedros.”

If anything, Tedros just cried harder. 

“God.” Lancelot carried him down the corridor, trying not to get too annoyed at him. “What’s the matter, boy? Huh?”

He stopped in front of a window seat and deposited Tedros on the cushion, standing over him. Tedros looked confused to suddenly find himself somewhere else, and mercifully stopped crying for the time being, even if his nose was still running. 

“Brat.” said Lancelot, again. Tedros stared at him, baffled.

“Yeah, that’s right.” said Lancelot. “Proper brat, you are.”

Tedros tried to put his fingers in his mouth. Lancelot pulled his hand away. 

“Don’t do that, it’s grubby.” he paused. “Don’t know why Arthur insists on taking you to these meetings, to be honest. You clearly don’t like them. Why don’t they let you do normal baby things, eh?” 

Lancelot had long been of the opinion that Gwen and Arthur were being too soft on their son, but clearly they were being stern in the wrong places. What was Arthur thinking, taking the kid to meetings? He wasn’t an accessory. Of course he was going to get restless and try and chew papers and dribble on people and cry. Inevitable. 

“Wonder if you’ll go to the School.” said Lancelot, thinking back to the topic during which Tedros had started screaming-- admissions to Good had come out that day. Guinevere’s cousins were going. “Bet you will. Hopefully you’ll be better behaved, by then.”  
Tedros seemed fascinated by his voice, though it was impossible he knew what was being said to him. Lancelot thought back and found that, generally, Tedros was never spoken to normally. Cooed at, mostly. 

“Be good if you could talk.” said Lancelot. “Don’t think you’re going to be a _sparkling_ conversationalist, but at least you could tell me what’s wrong. Most babies have their first word by now, you know.”

Tedros stared at him, pulling the sleeve of his babygrow. He _was_ an oddly quiet child. He cried a lot, but didn’t really babble much. Sometimes, in the mornings or when he was with his mother, but he clammed up when he was surrounded by maids. Shrieked a lot, though. Tried to stand up everywhere, like--

Like now.

“No, kid, unless you wanna smash your head on the stone floor, would not recommend…” Lancelot scooped him back up, ignoring his wail of protest. “We’ll find somewhere less dangerous for you to practice the essential art of _standing up,_ yeah?”

* * *

They went outside, to the stretch of grass near the orangery. Lancelot sat under a tree and fletched some arrows. Tedros stood up, fell over, sulked briefly, then stood up again. Lancelot inwardly cursed Arthur. He was _always_ saddled with the kid. Tedros was Arthur’s son, but it didn’t damn well feel like it. 

Tedros shrieked from nearby and Lancelot turned to see him looking expectantly at him, wobbling slightly as he held onto the bench.

“Good standing up, kid.” he said, miming clapping. “Proper athlete. Maybe you’ll master the mystical _walking_ , soon.”

Tedros laughed and immediately fell over again. Lancelot often tried to act like he wasn’t endeared by the kid, but was rarely successful. Tedros was sunny-dispositioned, when he wasn’t yelling, and distinctly sweet, even in that stupid lion-patterned babygrow.

“What are you gonna be like, eh, Tedros?” sighed Lancelot, eyeing the statue of Guinevere and Arthur nearby. “Probably gonna be more brawn than brains. Say _something,_ won’t you?”

“Lance.” Tedros said. 

Lancelot whipped around. 

“ _What?”_

Tedros seemed perfectly immersed in practicing his standing, clinging to the bench with chubby hands--

Then overbalanced and fell onto his backside in the grass. 

“Lance.” he said, again. He looked pleased with himself.

“Fuck.” said Lancelot, somewhere between horrified and endeared. 

Tedros looked confused. 

“Um--” Lancelot looked wildly around, then came rushing over and crouched in front of Guinevere’s son. “Oh, kid. _I_ can’t be your first word.”

Tedros looked worried at his sudden change in mood. He opened his mouth again--

Lancelot caught sight of the gardeners a few paths down and swooped down, picking him up and frantically trying to shut him up.

“Oh shush kid, shush, it’s very impressive and you are _very_ sweet, but you can’t be saying that, your father is _not_ going to be happy and there’ll be all sorts of rumours. This has to be a secret. The best kept secret in the Woods, probably. Please say something else. God. Anything else. Don’t kids say _mama?_ Say that.” He bounced him slightly. “C’mon, Tedros--”

But Tedros was Arthur’s son. 

“Lance.” he said. It was practically a challenge, and horrifyingly clear. 

“I think your royal symbol should be a donkey.” said Lancelot grimly. “You’re stubborn as a mule. I’m gonna buy you a donkey for Christmas.”

He poked him in the stomach. Tedros laughed, mercifully distracted--

“Stopped crying, then?”

Arthur appeared from behind the hedges, Guinevere on his arm. Lancelot carefully and frantically schooled his face into something casual. 

“Seems so. Good excuse to get out of the meeting, aren’t you, Tedros?”

Tedros frowned at him. The three of them laughed. 

Very tense, Lancelot handed Tedros back to Guinevere, who seemed to have noticed something off in his disposition. She frowned at him and she avoided her gaze, instead looking at Arthur, who was holding a fistful of shiny gold _somethings_ out of Tedros’s grasp.

“No, Tedros, not a good idea, these are sharp--”

“Arthur,” said Lancelot, disliking how much those looked like _pens_. “What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing, Lance, doesn’t matter--” Arthur shoved them into the pocket of his robes and grinned at him, careless. “Want to go to King’s Cove? Gawain had the new order of swords in.”

Lancelot looked suspiciously at him, trying to put the pieces together. This had the feeling of something that would go very wrong, in the future. He needed to ask Guinevere. Or Merlin. 

“...alright.” he said, dropping it for now. “I’ll take these arrows in.”

He turned back to the quiver and scooped it up as Arthur and Guinevere started to move away, Tedros hanging over Gwen’s shoulder, staring at him.

Lancelot prayed the kid would learn another goddamn word. 

**Author's Note:**

> why tf am I like this I'm just churning random shit out?? why?? idk?? anyway I thought this was kinda cute. idk. I promise ros vs is coming tho lmao. but yeah I like this.


End file.
